The Runaway
by TRose23
Summary: DMHP. Three long years after the Final Battle, Draco Malfoy chooses to disappear from the wizarding world. The Ministry of Magic treats this as an escape in association with a crime; Harry Potter is given the order to find and return the ex-Death Eater. In progress. Rated for slash, language, smut later on, alcohol/drug use [basically all the stuff that makes life good ;) ]
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Three years had passed since the final battle, roads springing in every which way from the choices made by each individual survivor. Harry Potter's road led him to the only possible conclusion of his most extraordinary life: the pursuit of a stability and normalcy which almost certainly does not exist. A successful career in the Auror Corps of the Ministry of Magic stood directly in front of him, beside a certain ginger-headed wife, and a brood of ginger headed kids, all soon to come in every mind's eye. And though the eternally inevitable hero could find nothing wrong with this ideal image, in the very back of his mind – the quietly scheming, whispering voice of a serpent – he was hard pressed to find what exactly was right about it either. Shrugging it off those seemingly distant years ago, Harry Potter had decided that an intense passion for one's life and circumstances is a luxury afforded to a select few, least of all the Boy Who Lived Repeatedly.

And when Harry Potter had supposed that passion is a luxury, he was not far from the truth. However, the reality was that a great many people had a great many luxuries removed from their lives as a result of that fateful battle, three years prior; comfort and privacy, stability and sanity were all long-gone extravagances to those who found themselves opposite the victorious, or those who straddled a line too close to comfort for the Ministry of Magic. Draco Malfoy, afforded his physical freedom and his childhood home but very little else, had become a forgotten ghost of the past, remembered only through routine Auror searches and sporadic Ministry inquiries involving long hours under Veritaserum, questioned for crimes he did not commit. Long ago, the sole heir to the blackened Malfoy name just resigned to these proceedings. He knew that they were just trying to find a way to finally put him away in Azkaban and be done with the whole family altogether. His father had been one of the first of the Death Eaters tried and convicted, the Wizengamot all too aware of the consequences of letting him off the first time. His beautiful, aristocratic mother had been spared by her act of defiance against the Dark Lord, though everyone knew that it was truly the testimony of Harry Potter that had kept her from the prison. However, that defiance against the Dark Lord had landed her a fatal curse, complements of Rodolphus Lestrange and his devotion to a now-dead megalomaniac. She had died after two long days in Malfoy Manor, in the arms of her only child, sobbing for the only person he knew in his heart that he had ever loved and who had loved him in return.

The night that Draco Malfoy buried his mother, with only the company of his only two allies and friends left alive or outside of a prison cell – Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson – he buried any desire to remain an active part of the worlds both wizarding and muggle. Living reclusively, the money his parents had left behind was more than sufficient to maintain the lifestyle he was raised in and utterly accustomed to. To Draco Lucius Malfoy, there was no reason to tackle the world he knew at his core that he had wronged – though he was loathe to admit it, his pride wounded by intact – and confront the guilt and ire ravaging his self-imposed solitude. The world, he had decided, was dead.


	2. Afternoon Tea

AN: I would like to introduce myself to the fanfiction community. I have been here, reading since 2003, first with Dramione and then to the deliciousness of Drarry. I am a college junior, though I will not say where. The last time I wrote a fanfiction, I was in eighth grade. Considerable time has obviously passed since then, and I would like to hope that my writing style has improved some. ;)

I love Drarry fanfiction with a great passion, having been an active fan for way too many years to count. Today, at my internship, I was dropping off a package at the post office when an idea hit me. A Drarry fanfic I had never read before. Perhaps it exists, of course, but not to my knowledge. After walking 2 blocks, I had the first inklings of this all figured out. I went back, sat at my desk, and just typed my little heart away: the prologue of this afternoon. On my way to the subway [oops, location discovered. :) ] I had potential dialogue spinning in my head, not just for the immediate chapter, but the entire story. I can't tell you what, but it's awfully exciting.

I love all feedback, both good and bad [unless you are being a troll, and that is just not appreciated].

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**Chapter One-Afternoon Tea**

"Draco, darling, I've had enough of your self-imposed, hermit existence," expressed an exhausted Pansy Parkinson over afternoon tea. She sighed dramatically. "Pass the tarts."

Afternoon tea had been a tradition at Malfoy Manor for as long as Draco Malfoy could remember. His mother had always entertained with a grace and ease that he admired. Delicate sandwiches, scones and tarts were always served on the hand-painted porcelain of his great, great aunt Vela, but he remembered before the war when there had been caviar. Upon those occasions when afternoon noon tea had called for a little more impressive, Narcissa Malfoy would have the house helves prepare caviar and smoked salmon blinis. After the war started, the company began to dwindle until it became down to just one person: Pansy Parkinson. But neither of them would allow the tradition to die, for Narcissa's sake, and so, every afternoon at 3:00, Pansy would come in through the marble fireplace and sit beside him, upon the very same couch his dear mother had sat.

Draco Malfoy, aged twenty-one years old and feeling every one of those years, avoided her searching gaze. "I'd rather not have this discussion again," he murmured, taking a sip of his tea.

Pansy paused, thinking through her words carefully before allowing them to spill from her lips. "What happened to you? Do you even see what you've been reduced to…a prison of your own making, in your very own mind?! You escaped Azkaban for _this _miserable existence!" She paused once more. "You only leave when the Ministry demands it! You'll see no one, speak to no one. Save for Blaise, of course…It's pathetic! Your father never wanted this for you. Your mother-"

Draco leapt to his feet, enraged, silencing his oldest friend with a sharp, icy glare. She looked at the ground, afraid to meet his eyes. "You go too far, Pansy, even for you! What would you have me do? Hold Saint Potter's hand and skip with him through fields of flowers, rejoicing in a love of muggles and mudbloods? Try and make some respectable image for myself? Rain galleons on the Ministry until they can pretend to ignore what the Malfoy name means to every single witch and wizard outside these walls? I think not!

"I go out there," his elegant hand pointing emphatically at the bay window, "and they win. They will look at me and whisper, 'there goes the boy that killed Dumbledore. There goes the last of the family who housed the Dark Lord. What nerve he has to show his face!'"

"But you didn't-"

"I know what I have done and what I have not done! I may not have said the words, but the deed was entirely my doing! I will watch him fall from that tower until the day I fucking die, Pansy."

At that very moment, it seemed to Pansy that there was no way to answer. He was right. Every time this argument arose, he was always right. And though it broke her heart to its very core to see her dearest friend reduced to this hollow shell of the proud, humorous boy she had once known, there could be no solution to this exhausted argument. Unless…

"You could leave," she muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Draco. You could leave. Go. Make a new name for yourself, someplace untouched by the Dark Lord. Get out of Europe entirely, if need be! Find a job, find a wife, have children. Or don't do any of that; be a wandering lothario and have a shag in every bloody port, for all I care! I just want you to live some semblance of a life outside of these bloody walls."

At first, her friend had appeared hopeful at the prospect of a new beginning, but a darkness quickly spread across his features.

"They would never let me go... The ministry, I mean." He looked defeated.

"Then we won't ask for their fucking permission! This is the ministry we're talking about! They're so bloody incompetent, it will take them months until they realize you've gone anyway. Right about the time when they would haul you in for a routine search and interrogate. And all that they will find is an empty manor, its sole inhabitant off in a new country, with a new name and a new life. They could never find you!"

She knew that she was on to something; this was it, this was her chance to give Draco the one thing he needed more than anything in this world.

He raised his eyebrow. "And what happens when they track me through my wand, Pans. You know they can, and you know they do." Draco knew full well what the only solution was, and was dreading Pansy's response all the same.

"Then we snap your wand." Pansy looked down at the ground, avoiding Draco's petrifying gaze.

"It's my wand! The only thing I have left truly worth protecting! It's the-"

"Yeah, I know. It's the wand that defeated the Dark Lord and your sole redeeming quality to the Ministry of Magic. Blah blah blah. Buy a new one"

"And then they track my magical signature... A big mess, only to get in even more trouble than I had been in the first place."

It hung there in the room, the terrible conclusion, unspoken but entirely understood. The utterly unthinkable. Draco Malfoy, the sole scion to the Malfoy family name, live the rest of his life a muggle…

"I am not accustomed to begging," began Pansy, standing straight and tall, every bit the proud pureblood. "And I hardly believe that now is the time to start. I love you in a million and one ways and that's why I need to say this, and please don't interrupt me because then I fear that I will not be able to finish.

"I can't stand to see you reduced to this empty life. You are a prisoner once more in this house, and I know what has lived in these walls. It remains alive in your head, I see it reflecting in your eyes. You sit with me in that very chair, every afternoon for three years, and I know that you see, right behind me, your crazed aunt with her unnatural laugh and her wild eyes. You see the countless tortures, the Death Eaters always coming and going, in and out, never knowing if one of them will destroy everything you held dear in a single moment. You see your father, groveling to the Dark Lord like a house elf, and I know how much you hated him at that moment, so contradictory to the Malfoy way. I know that you do not sleep. I am not blind.

"I cannot and will not watch you live the remainder of this miserable existence within these walls, haunted and tortured by ghosts long gone. And if that means doing what is difficult, then I'll do it. I'll do whatever it takes to get Draco back. The Draco I lost when your father was sent to Azkaban the first time." She took a breath, preparing herself for what needed to be said. "Sometimes doing what is right is the hardest decision of all. Sometimes, you need to make sacrifices. Even if that sacrifice is your magic. Because I would rather you live the remainder of your days as a muggle, far away from me, than die in this bloody manor, with tea every bloody afternoon."

Pansy stared at him expectantly, eagerly awaiting his answer. Draco stared at his shoes, and for a moment, she thought that he would just bypass an answer altogether, ignoring everything she had just said. But then he looked up, meeting her eyes directly. "I'll do it."

And though his voice lacked steadfast determination or boldness, she never thought anyone braver than Draco at that very moment.

"Pansy, be a dear and fetch Blaise." He sunk into his chair and picked up the tea cup. "And my tea has gone tepid." Draco was about to summon a house elf, when Pansy stopped him.

"Muggles don't have house elves. You know that, dear. You should try making tea the old fashioned way." She kissed the top of his head, and with a sad smile, she walked across the room to the majestic fireplace. "I'll be back with Blaise, though I doubt he's going to be happy with the idea I've put in your head."

Taking a scoop of Floo Powder, she stepped into the fireplace and took her leave.

"Yes, I suppose she's right." He stood up, setting the fragile teacup upon its saucer.

_'_How did one make tea the muggle way?' he wondered. There were a great many things about muggles that Draco did not know or understand.

He had been in muggle world a few times, but they were most certainly not educational trips. He had a rough idea, of course, about what muggles did and how they lived – he was not blind, thank you very much! But, truth be told, the bulk of what Draco Malfoy knew about non-wizarding culture was that they were very oblivious to what was right in front of their eyes, and that they had grotesque machines that made horrifically loud noises, or shot out these rather unpleasant pellets that were very easy to block, if you had magic…which, Draco fully realized at that moment, he wouldn't.

"Shite."

He needed a fresh start, a new beginning. A place entirely devoid of his mistakes echoing from every brick and tile. Draco knew this at his very core. He took a deep breath, and with a very determined pace, he set forth to the kitchens, a domain he had only ever relegated to the House Elves.

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AN: Yes, that one was also short. Future chapters past this point will be significantly lengthier. =]


	3. Pasts and Futures

**AN:** Sorry about the wait. I went away for the holiday [Thanksgiving] without my computer...I got to meet my girlfriend's family, which was an interesting learning experience. And pleasant. All too entirely pleasant.

But, in any case, here I am. I promised you a longer chapter and you got it. Hopefully they can all be this long, but I sort of went on a huge writing binge for a few days. My final exams are rapidly approaching [followed by an extra-special Christmas break in DISNEY WORLD!] so I can't promise an update before New Years. I'd really like to have one out by then, but I make no promises.

Also, I'm dreadful at what I'd like to call "house elf speak", but I tried to add in lots of head-banging and sirs to make it seem authentic. I still don't have a beta, despite my best efforts, so there's really no one around to make sure my house elves are in character. That being said, as you can probably imagine, this story will not have an abundance of house elves, so I'm really not all that bothered.

Enjoy.

**Chapter 2- Pasts and Futures**

Draco stood in front of a large stove in the Malfoy Manor kitchens, as perplexed as any pureblooded heir could be. His utter confusion was not on account of the preparation of the tea, but rather due to the stove itself. Upon first glance, the young Malfoy understood that this was a stove that operated with the help of magic.

A pop.

His beloved personal house elf, Cropsey, had disapparated behind him. "Master Draco! Is there anything you need?!"

The elf's obvious distress was a result of Draco's current location. He had only been in the kitchens once before, and after that unfortunate event, he had never dared it again. The entire setting brought about his reminiscence of the first and only time he had ever come through those doors.

He was a small child, seven years of age, when he had wandered into these very same rooms. That month had been an unreasonably wet July; rain showers dominated the atmospheric conditions, much to the dismay of any would-be sun bathers. Lucius and Narcissa were vacationing at the Malfoy chateau in France, where the sunshine was abundant, leaving young Draco behind with his nanny.

One morning, the pair awoke to the glorious sight of a clear sky, graced with a blazing-hot sun. Without hesitation, they set up a picnic at the side of the pond in the west gardens. The house elves had prepared for them a small feast of delicious sandwiches, assorted cheeses and a particularly delectable fruit salad. Together with Lydia Brown, his youthful and respectfully pureblooded nanny and playmate, he swam in the cool, refreshing waters, delighting in the precious heat. They splashed and fooled around until their fingers had pruned and their muscles ached from the exercise. Liddy – as called her at that time – had fallen asleep in the grass, basking in the strong sunlight, leaving a very bored Draco up to his own devices.

Despite his staunch education in the inferiority of others, and most especially magical creatures, muggles and mudbloods, Draco's youth permitted him a fondness for the beings. When his parents' backs were turned, he would play in secret with the Malfoy servants. And so, in the absence of Liddy, Draco set off in search of entertainment.

Although he had never been in that part of the manor, he knew where the kitchens were. Behind a door that could only be seen when it was wanted to be seen, they were every bit as elaborate and extensive as the rest of the property, though obviously less opulently decorated. From the very earliest of ages, Draco had been forbidden from entering this one domain of the house elves. Such a lowly location was certainly not befitting a young Malfoy heir. However, Draco had seen his father pass through the door on a small number of occasions: to address the elves before a large event to be hosted at the mansion, or to discipline an ill-behaved elf. He knew that if he wanted to find the house elves, all he had to do was pass through the mysterious door.

And that was exactly how Draco came to pass into the prohibited kitchens.

Cropsey had been the first to spot the young scion. "Master Draco!" she shrieked, dropping the plates she had been carrying. They shattered on the black-and-white tiled floor with an audible crash.

The other house elves immediately stopped their work, turning to see the source of the commotion. The sight of Draco standing before them was enough to send them into a state of pandemonium.

Dobby was the first to speak up, bravely standing in front of the young master. "Master Draco, sir, are you hungry, sir? Would you like a treat?"

Instantaneously, the table before Draco was laden with a wide assortment of cakes, pies and biscuits. His eyes widened, evidence of his excitement for the opportunity to eat what he wanted without regulation or constraint. All of his favorites were set before him, much to the dismay of Dobby's fellow house elves.

"We're going to be punished for this!" exclaimed one, glaring and pointing at the culprit. "You know he's not allowed in here! Master Lucius will have our heads!"

Dobby started to hit himself violently with the plate he was carrying. "Stupid, stupid-"

"Stop!" shouted Draco.

He removed the plate from Dobby's hand. The others whispered frantically. They had never seen a member of the family behave with any kind of concern for house elves.

"Silly Dobby! You haven't done anything wrong at all! Now quit making that noise and fix me a plate."

Quick to fulfill his demands, Cropsey filled a plate with all of the favorites. He devoured the tasty morsels with a zeal only found in young children. He smiled broadly at his illicit companion, pleased with his large meal of rich sweets. "Now, we will play! Father and Mother are gone, so there is nothing to be afraid of!"

Although Cropsey was very much aware of the punishment she would receive from her masters if she was caught going through with his demands, it was a demand from a Malfoy nevertheless. She was bound to any command from the family, regardless of a conflicting previous declaration.

"Come! I want to go outside and Liddy is being terribly boring."

A collective hush settle over the house elves, who had been previously scuttling around, making a great deal of noise in their everyday activities.

"You disrespect my wishes so blatantly, Draco?"

He knew that voice.

He turned around, facing that voice's respective owner, looking directly at the ground in shame. A chill coursed through his veins. He knew that he was in a great deal of trouble, though he could not fathom the punishment he would receive.

"Father! I was very mistaken! I beg your forgiveness."

"You feel an affinity with these inferior creatures which is entirely unbecoming of a Malfoy. You have shamed me deeply, Draco."

Lucius turned towards Cropsey with a look of sheer malice. Draco knew that his father had the potential to cause great pain, but he did not truly comprehend that reality until this moment.

"And you! You insolent, insubordinate beast! How dare you disobey me, your master?! _Crucio_!"

The house elf struggled to keep quiet. It was clear that she had been subjected to its torments before. Though Draco felt pangs of sympathy for the being, he disregarded them, smartly keeping quiet. Self-preservation was already clearly a dominant feature of his personality. He watched as her body writhed in indescribable pain, her limbs jerking about. Ten seconds passed until he finally lifted the curse. The elder Malfoy kicked her still body just for an added emphasis.

"Let that be a lesson to you, Draco. These are not your friends or playmates or your equals. They are your lessers , and one day, they will be your possessions. You would do well to remember that. Now leave, and let me never see you in here again!"

Draco left the room in a slow and dignified pace, refusing to let his father see him as weak. The moment he had left his father's sight, however, he ran to his room at a breakneck pace, craving the solitude of his private chambers. Falling onto his bed, he cried himself deeply into hysteria, which concluded with a very long sleep.

Lydia had been sacked after that terrible incident; Lucius had declared her no longer relevant to the needs of the Malfoy family, though it was clear that her having been let go was a direct result of her accidental negligence. She was promptly replaced with a series of tutors, and with them came an end to the carefree playtimes of childhood.

Fourteen years later, a significantly more afflicted Draco Malfoy shook himself from his reverie, looking at Cropsey with the same earnest affection he had possessed those many years ago. Though Lucius was long gone, his presence was especially felt at this moment. Though Draco put a significant effort into trying to permanently wipe all thoughts of his influential father from his mind, he felt as though the man would reveal himself at any given moment, skulking behind the new lord in the shadows he so vehemently clung to. This was, of course, impossible, but the prospect was terrifying nonetheless.

The house elf repeated herself: "Master Draco, is everything alright?" Lines of concern were etched on her face.

"Err...do you know how muggles cook?"

"They use fire, Master Draco."

He supposed that was fairly obvious.

"But how do they get fire in their stoves? Do they not use stoves?"

For all of his extensive education on the virtues of hating muggles and his year-long experience in the torture and murder of their kind, he was hopelessly unaware of how they lived their lives. His father had made it his priority to ensure hat Draco was not present at the raids and other excursions into their alien world, in an effort to maintain his ignorance on said subject.

"Master Draco, I have never been in the muggle world. I am very sorry, but I don't think I can help you with your questions. Now, is there something I can get you?"

"No, Cropsey. I can take care of myself. I will fix myself a cup of tea." He puffed out his chest, proud of his independence.

She stared at him, open mouthed and aging. She had known the boy since his birth, and never once had he done anything himself when he could have simply commanded it of another. And though Draco had always been very kind to Cropsey when it was in secret - or in the company of Mistress Pansy, upon occasion - he had never demonstrated a shred of self-sufficiency.

"Oh no! Master Draco, it is my duty to serve you! I will fix you your tea and send it to you in the sitting room, sir! Don't you worry about it at all!"

"I need to do this for myself It is very important. Let me be."

She seemed hesitant to allow him, as if it was an insult to her skills as Head house elf. However, because it was a command from a Malfoy, she did not have a choice in the matter.

"I'll leave you sir." She bowed and disapparated.

Staring intently at the stove once more, he realized that he didn't know how it worked with magic either. When had he ever needed to? Needless to say, his experiences with stoves were nonexistent. But he had certainly been in a potions laboratory; he was a very skilled brewer to boot. Cooking couldn't be that different from potions making. It was all heat and creating something new and distinctive from a combination of ingredients, was it not?

He opened the kettle perched on the stovetop and pointed his wand inside the opening. "Aguamenti."

In potions, one had only to light a fire beneath the cauldron. Did the stove have a special incantation?

"No, that's ridiculous.."he said to himself. "House elves can't use spells..."

While he didn't know how to work the stove itself, he did know a water-boiling charm. He very nearly used it, when he remembered the original reason why he was standing there in the first place. He was supposed to be learning to do things the muggle way, whatever that way was. And the only fires he knew how to make were magical ones, so that was an impasse as well.

"A muggle house would have a muggle stove So I can't learn how to be a muggle if I'm in he wizarding world..." he continued to muse.

Another pop sounded from behind him.

"Begging your pardon, Master Draco! I know that you told me not to disturb you, but Mistress Pansy is here with Master Blaise. They are waiting for you in the blue lounge."

"That's fine, Cropsey. I'll go greet them."

He left the tea cup in her hands, turned on his heels and promptly walked through the enchanted door.

"I'm going to need a new name," Draco said to himself. The prospect seemed rather, well…exciting, to be perfectly honest. "What is a good muggle name?"

He shoved the thought to the back of his mind and entered the blue lounge; they were one of several lounges in the manor, each with their own respective color coordination. Taking a seat beside Pansy on the cream-colored velvet upholstered loveseat, he looked at Blaise Zabini, who sat directly before him in a matching armchair.

"I expect she's already told you everything, so I won't bother wasting my time."

"I expect you've already made up your mind, so I won't bother wasting my time as well. Trying to convince you otherwise, that is."

"I wish you would."

"Can't do that for you, Malfoy. Who else will tell you 'I told you so' when this harebrained scheme of yours fails, and you come running back here for your wand after little over two hours?"

Draco glared at his childhood friend, but his expression quickly melted into that of a smile, followed by light laughter. "You're probably right, but I'd like to try and prove you wrong, in any case."

"So what's the plan, il capitano?"

"Well my great Italian stallion, the plan is to leave my wand at the Manor and live out the rest of my miserable existence as a hapless Muggle. Which sounds just delightful, if you ask me, because I don't even know how they boil water!"

"It's a good thing mother was married to that muggle-lover, then, isn't it? A few years back...must have been in our third year...Anyway, they use a stove, Draco. Sometimes it uses fire and sometimes it doesn't...muggles have this thing called electricity which powers a lot of different devices, like how we power ours with magic. But apparently muggles invent multiple ways to do the same thing, which is ridiculous if you ask me, but-"

"Wait! You know things about muggles?!"

"Well, no one ever bothered to ask. Not that it matters. I would have just denied it regardless. But since you're so desperate, and you know how I love to see you desperate, I'll give you a fighting chance out there. No need to thank me."

"Prat."

"You love me."

"Doesn't anyone care what I have to say?!" Pansy pouted.

"Can't stand it that the attention isn't on you for once, Pans?" Draco teased.

"Stuff it."

"You don't even know the first thing about muggles, Parkinson," Blaise quipped. "Right. So what do you need to know? Mind you, I don't know that much. It wasn't like mother married a muggle, or anything _that_ utterly disgraceful."

An awkward, tentative laugher followed, but it was ignored by his friends.

"But you do know things, right?"

"I'm not exactly an expert on the subject, but I picked up quite a few things along the way. All things considered, they fend for themselves rather well. They have a contraption for everything."

"Can you teach me?"

Blaise chuckled. "There's nothing to teach, Draco. You just sort of...learn as you go. You would need their rubbish in front of you to see what I'm talking about. That's what I had been telling Pansy before you go here. I think you just need to go."

"Excuse me?!"

"You heard me. Throw all caution to the wind, dive in headfirst. Act before thinking about it, because if you over think the whole deal, then you'll never actually do it. You just need to-"

"Be Potter."

"Exactly! Be just like the bloody Gryffindor and grow a pair. You'll be fine."

"You seem to had thought this through rather thoroughly for someone who just heard the whole idea little over ten minutes ago."

"What can I say? I think well on my feet! Well, and off my feet as well, but that's an different matter entirely." He smirked.

"Prat."

"You love me."

A collective silence.

"So what do you have in mind?"

"I say you go to New York. It's massive; you can be as anonymous as you want to be, and no one will think of it. Find yourself a fabulous flat, and Pans and I will send you money discretely. The ministry will be watching your Gringotts account, obviously, so you can't just waltz in and take out a few thousand Galleons unnoticed."

"Lucky for me, Gringotts isn't the only place where Malfoys keep their money. We have always kept a small vault secure, in case of emergency, which Father expanded during the war."

"Lucius was always one for plotting and planning, wasn't he? Well, in any case, I think that your best course of action would be to go overseas entirely. I have connections in New York City. They're not exactly intimate, but they can find you a suitable place. They cannot know for whom said flat is intended for, of course, and nor can they have any direct connection with you. Cover our tracks and all of that. If this is done correctly, there will be no link between you and the States when we're done."

"The States?"

"Oh Merlin! You really have been raised in the dark, pun intended. You know of the North American Wizarding Confederation, right?"

"Do you take me for a complete bowtruckle?"

"Well, the United States of America, or 'the States', is the muggle version of that. Sort of. You _have _heard of New York City, though. Right?"

"Father had a business venture there some years before the shite started flying. I went with him; I suppose he thought that it was important that I broaden my international wizarding relations, in preparation for the day when I would assume my role as the head of the Malfoys. Ha! If only he could see this..."

"Well not that it wasn't a lovely story, Draco, but you are not to reaffirm those connections."

"I know, I know. Life as a muggle and all of that rot."

"I'm not joking. Just stay away from the wizarding community there. And no accidental magic! Keep your temper under control! I won't let all of my good scheming go to waste because you're a careless dunce!"

"Yes sir," said Draco sarcastically.

"And mind your sass, young man!"

Pansy spoke up. "Doesn't anyone want to know what I think we should do?"

"Pans, stop being a princess. You're going to come with me to New York, while Mr. Reclusive over here waits for us patiently at home, while we prepare everything. Draco, you have to put up appearances that nothing out of the ordinary is happening. Mind you, that won't be difficult, considering what the ordinary is like for you. We will need to leave as soon as possible, secure a flat and get you an illegal portkey out of here. Obviously, the Department of Transportation cannot know where you're going. That goes without saying."

"New York!" Pansy exclaimed. "Oh how splendid! I will have to do a bit of shopping. Madame Grande-Frankel has the best robes in the world, they say."

"Pansy, this isn't a vacation..."

"Blaise, don't be thick. We need a good cover, and an innocent shopping trip makes a perfectly suitable cover story. Not that I won't get anything out of the arrangement, but that's just strictly circumstantial..."

"Well, not that I'm eager to potentially never see my best mate again, but its time to get this little show on the road."

"Pardon?" Evidently, neither Pansy nor Draco were familiar with the muggle phrase.

"You'll understand soon enough. We need to go."

"Am I the only one who finds it rather comical that in the matter of an hour, my entire life will just...evanesce?"

Pansy put her hand on his in an effort to comfort her oldest and dearest friend. "Darling, your life is on a trajectory to nowhere. Blaise and I will make it right again, even if the entire prospect seems grim. But I promise that these changes will prove themselves a blessing in disguise."

"Even if that 'blessing' entails living life as a muggle?"

She looked into his eyes, challenging the molten silver directly. "Draco Malfoy, there are far worse things in this world than living your life as a muggle. And the fact that I'm the one saying this, and not some muggle-loving ginger brat, proves how true that must be."

She kissed him gently on the cheek, stood up from her place on the loveseat and walk to the back of Blaise's armchair. Slouching over and slinging her arms around his shoulders, she whispered something in his ear. "Bloody conspirators," muttered Draco under his breath.

Blaise stood up, ready to leave. "Don't do something stupid while we're gone either. I know how much you love to sabotage yourself."

Stepping into the fireplace, Pansy blew kiss dramatically at the blond. "Ta!" she exclaimed, before giving her intended destination. "Ministry of Magic."

"Well here goes the most agonizing trip of my life. Hours and hours of watching Pansy try on robe after robe as a bloody 'cover'. Ha! She's going to love every minute of the torture, knowing fully well how I'll feel about it. The bint." Taking a scoop of flop powder, he stepped into the fireplace. "Ministry of Magic."

"Now, to find something to occupy my mind, lest I go insane," he said to himself, very much aware that talking to oneself could already construe as insanity.

**AN: Review if you like it, review if you don't! I don't have a beta, so I rely on your criticism to improve myself. =] **

****Also, since Blaise Zabini is never disclosed as one ethnicity or another, I've decided that he's Italian. Live with it.


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